


Broken (Please Don't Break)

by LittleMissInfamous



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Friends to Lovers, M/M, Mutual Pining, Prompt Fill, pavellan - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-02
Updated: 2016-06-02
Packaged: 2018-07-11 18:52:32
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,972
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7065997
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LittleMissInfamous/pseuds/LittleMissInfamous
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Alkaios Lavellan is leaving soon for his reaver training with Breaker Thram. Many of the residents in Skyhold are unsettled at the thought of their beloved inquisitor being broken, but none more so than the Altus from Tevinter.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Broken (Please Don't Break)

**Author's Note:**

> I wish they'd had a scene where, when you'd chosen your specialization, you could see some of the training. This was written based on my headcanons for how future reavers are broken, alongside some beautiful pining and angst from Dorian and Lavellan himself.

Watching the inquisitor leave for several days wasn't comfortable for any of the inhabitants of Skyhold. 

The advisers were mostly used to Alkaios' absence. He was a man of action and, as such, he spent a vast majority of his time out in the field. From their reports, he was most successful during his expeditions across the Southern reaches of Thedas, and they made due with collecting their collective opinion in the inquisitor's absence, and had him discuss and rule on their primary decision on the few days he came back to recover. 

The Inner Circle was well aware that the intense training would be an asset in direct combat. Ever since their rise to power, the Inquisition's enemies have doubled in size as well as power, and it was absolutely vital that Lavellan had second and third tier abilities accessible to him for high intensity combat. 

However, this training was quite literally the only time Lavellan had been away from the inquisition alone since the day he was captured after the conclave. The advisers wouldn't be able to communicate with the inquisitor, even to check on his status, and this unnerved the leaders to no end. Especially Leliana, who had tried to convince Breaker Thram on more than one occasion to let the spymaster send a man or two, just to guard the wide perimeter of the empty wilderness Thram suggested was necessary for their training. The trainer was adamant, however, that complete solitude was necessary for successful results, and that any men who were detected would be dispatched of immediately. 

It took sending three different spies Thram's way for Leliana to realize that the Breaker really did have impressive abilities of perception, and that no one could be sneaked in. The Spymaster was fuming about the incidents up until the day that Alkaios was set to leave. 

The inner circle knew the abilities of their leader and, although it felt strange for them all to be left behind, they trusted that he would return to them as he always did. 

The only person who really asked what Alkaios himself felt about the matter was Dorian. Perhaps it was because Lavellan was a superior conversationalist and still couldn't surpass the buffed and polished polite persistence that had been engrained within Dorian before he left Tevinter. Maybe it was because Alkaios and Dorian spent more time sitting in the library- with forgotten history books sprawled between them, leaning in intently and arguing or discussing political and historical relativity- than the elf spent with any of the other members of the inner circle. 

Reflecting on the circumstances that day, Alkaios still couldn't be sure why Dorian had bothered to ask. What the warrior was sure of was that the only reason he genuinely responded to the question at all was the tense worry that was set between his friend's shoulder blades, and the way his tempestuous eyes had glistened with worry in the fading sunlight.

“So, about the drinking-dragon-blood-to-create-a-rage-monster-thing, are you sure this is the path you want to take? No one would begrudge you of a decision to become a templar.” 

Alkaios' lavender eyes flashed away from Dorian's prodding stare and he grinned. “I think a few people might. All of the mages that I've taken into my custody, for one. And perhaps Cullen, whose been actively battling the effects of Lyrium withdrawl for weeks now.” 

“This decision isn't about your people, its about you. And if you'd recall, Cullen was willing to postpone his efforts of evasion until after the Inquisition had defeated Corypheous. I'm sure he would at the very least have a grasp as to why you'd made that decision.” 

The elf hummed in thought, taking a sip of his cider. “I know that I could, but I don't think that it would be a great model act.” 

Dorian rested his fingertips along his lips. “Perhaps you're right. The road of the champion seems worthy of you as well. The image of the Hero Who Rises Above All and protect all of his people with all he has. After your display at Haven, I'm sure most people already assume that you'd take that path and continue to rise in Her holy name.” 

Alkaios outright scoffed at that remark, and the Altus couldn't smother a small smile. “Yes, I did such a great job being one of many who stood against Corypheous and getting out. You know as well as I do that the only reason I was given this position, while most of the men who took to their arms before I did now loyally follow, is because of the mark. Everything I've ever done for the inquisition that extended beyond the power of our workers have been possible because I have the mark.” 

Dorian laughed. “Yes, what an impossibly unfair advantage! If only they knew the experience of the intense pain it gave you in the beginning! Or of how it still flares whenever you get close to a rift. What a gift that everyone would love to acquire, and not possess merely for power's sake alone.”

The warrior rolled his eyes and took another sip of his drink. “A little pain is worth being able to close the rifts and protect innocent civilians.” 

“And that you think so is why you've always been best suited to carry its abilities, and the status and importance that comes with those abilities.” 

Alkaios set the chalice aside, and all joking left the elf's thin features as he leaned back on his palms. All at once, Dorian seemed to realize how inclined he was towards the elf, and he straightened in his velvet chair.

“Dorian, I'm angry.” The silence that followed his simple statement was profound. Everyone seemed to be holding their breath, all hushed whispers paused. Even the constant caw of the Spymaster's crows descended into a murmur. In the quiet that followed, the inquisitor's voice seemed deafeningly loud, even though it was a breath beneath his normal tone. “Ever since what happened at Haven, I've been harbouring this rage that I've tried and tried to temper. It's suffocating. I feel like I haven't caught my breath since we found this place. I didn't choose Reaver training because I wanted to get more powerful, I chose it because I already possess so much hatred, and it burns, and if I could use this anger to protect the people who follow me, and to defend my inner circle, I'm going to take the opportunity.” 

The Tevinter was quiet for a moment, but didn't break the eye contact that Alkaios had trained on him. He studied the amaranthine depths, especially bright with passion. “You know I can't fully understand how you feel. I saw a lot of good men die that day, but I was a comrade. They never looked at me like I was supposed to save them.” Lavellan's eyes sharply fell away, fixing on the wall, but Dorian didn't pause. “I can only imagine how hard this must have been for you, but you're not only channelling your anger with this practice. The dragon blood changes you, it fuels you. Lyrium's effects are at least a familiarity amongst the templar community, no one is able to track the effects of dragon blood.”

Alkaios smiled fondly and stood up, grasping his empty cup.“We'll cross that bridge when we get to it. I've got all of my inner circle to watch over me and regulate how much I'm taking. And as invested as you are in my well-being, I'm sure I'll be counting on you a great deal.”

Dorian felt a flush rush over his neck. “I'm invested in not having to appoint a new leader and educating them on the basics of Tevinter's history. While nobody would protest to listening to my exquisitely worded and gorgeously presented tales of epic grandeur, it was tiresome enough getting it through to the current Inquisitor.”

“I was an easy student and you know it. I love history.”

“The point still stands.”

The elf rolled his eyes, “I'll be sure not to die.”

“That's good. What with how often you're in my alcove, I'd notice you were gone.”

Alkaios caught a movement out of the corner of his eye. Thram stood in the corner of the staircase and, upon noticing his attention, she raised a single slender digit and beckoned for him to follow. Given the invitation, Alkaios expected the Breaker to disappear with the stealth of an assassin, diving into the shadows and avoiding diverting any attention towards herself. Instead, she turned on her heel and walked down the staircase like a soldier, her gaze forward and her swagger confident and unyielding. On her way up, Leliana stepped out of the warrior's way and watched her descend down the stairs. 

Taking that as his cue, Alkaios took a step forward and curled his fingers around Dorian's shoulder, squeezing gently. “I'll come back.”

Alkaios didn't hesitate to leave, naturally falling into a strut that fell only mere inches from the strength of Breaker Thram's. Half lifting the book he had curved over his leg, Dorian paused and granted himself five seconds. Five seconds to study and memorize the expression that Lavellan wore as he disappeared past his line of sight. His dark brows were furrowed only slightly, set over his amethyst eyes in intense focus. His mouth perpetually held the soft beginnings of a grin. His gold hair was darker in the faint light of the evening, and even with shadows cast of his face he seemed friendly, warm, and inviting. If Dorian hadn't fought alongside the inquisitor himself, he would doubt how fervently his anger glowed in the wake of impending danger to his friends. He would doubt that the elf's features could twist into a snarl that flooded your veins with molten, sending fiery fear that froze his enemies in his spot. 

Dorian watched him leave, and tried to convince himself that if Alkaios returned different, he would learn to follow the new, stronger leader that they were given. 

But the Altus had spent half of his life lying to himself, and he could feel the cold tendrils of pain that tugged at his chest when he thought of anything changing the man he had met in the south. He didn't want a stronger Inquisitor if that meant a different Alkaios. 

Stupid, he thought, Selfish. You're hoping for more than you are allowed. He is not yours.

Dorian desperately recited his thoughts while he re-read a paragraph in his book three times, trying not to think of the leather and woodsmoke scent that lingered in the air long after his companion's departure. 

~0~0~0~

Alkaios knew of his mentor's title, and still he was unprepared for the brutality that he was going to face. It was a plain journey until they got to a secluded meadow in the middle of Maker-knows-where, and the psychological nightmare truly began. 

“So,” The elf began, letting the syllable flow from his mouth slowly, “Where do we begin?”

“What is your biggest weakness?”

“What?” Kai scoffed. 

“What, in your mind, is your greatest weakness?” Thram repeated impatiently, circling him slowly. 

“I hate to break it to you, but the whole reason I'm training with you is to take this weakness and make it power.”

“What is your greatest weakness?”

All amusement fell from Alkaios' face. “I don't know.”

A sharp blade kissed the back of the elf's neck, and he instinctively turned towards his trainer and took the metal into his hand with the heel of his hand, his other arm falling forward to the woman's hip to turn her back to him. Before he could throw the stolen blade and curl his arm around Thram's neck, a burning pain seared through his thigh and he stumbled forward, loosening his grip only lightly. 

It was enough, and Thram threw him past her shoulder and into a bundle of trees. 

“I thought you were training me, not trying to kill me!” Alkaios seethed as he pressed his hand to the bloody wound on his leg. 

“I am here to break you.” The small woman stated. “What is your greatest weakness?”

“No one has just one great weakness.” The warrior spat, squaring his shoulders and staring into Thram's eye. “What category are we talking about here? Mentally? Emotionally? Physically?”

A slender brow rose, and a smirk played on the Reaver's mouth. “That's very wise. We're starting to get somewhere.” She circled him, body dropped in a predatory stance, and Alkaios forced his muscles to remain loose. “However, it only took one look at you for me to figure out your greatest physical weakness.” Her voice was low and alluring, her light breath tickling his neck. Alkaios was a little surprised in himself when he moved away from her advance uncomfortably. He could very clearly feel her gaze drink in every inch of the movement. He was aware of her arm moving even before her small blade came up, an inch away from his ear, and caressed the jagged edge where the flesh had been torn from his ear by Corypheus' archdemon. The blade was warm, and he had little time to wonder at why before the blade's tip was an inch from his face, and tracing down the scar through his brow, over his cheek. Close and blurry as it was, Alkaios could see his blood still staining the dagger. “This wound, it is from The Elder One and his pet, isn't it? Merely months old, barely healed. I bet it's still tender. And it's added to your blind side, made it apparent.” 

The inquisitor's mouth twitched into a wry smirk. “How perceptive of you.” 

Thram cracked a sharp smile, “A reaver is created, Lavellan, to draw a person's greatest fear from them with their presence alone. When we run into battle, with a challenging taunt already half formed on our lips, you will strike fear into the hearts of all men that stand before you. And in their moments of fear is when people reveal their weaknesses.”

Alkaios knew her words were true. Despite her stature, despite his power, her presence alone unnerved the Inquisitor. Her presence was all encompassing, a shadow that constantly reminded him to be careful. 

Silver hurled in a fast moving arch towards his neck, and Alkaios dipped forward and wrapped his arms around Thram, hauling her to the left. She moved fast again, her foot hooking over his heel as he went to throw her. His weight thrown off balance, the unarmed warrior rolled onto his shoulder and got to his feet, turning to catch the Reaver's wrist before her blade came down over her head. 

If Thram was surprised by the Inquisitor's fast progress, she didn't question it, even as their arms quaked between them while they fought to push the blade into their opponents stomach. Alkaios bared his teeth, twisting the reaver's wrist and throwing the blade away again. He threw her weight off of him with the back of his forearm, and finally pulled his sword from its scabbard, letting it glint dangerously in the sunlight. 

Thram rose, but her gaze didn't register his stance or his armed state at all. Her head stayed down as she found her feet and, in the same move, let her form fall heavily against the man's chest. 

Thrown, he kept his sword in his grip even as he fell, trying to slide the metal between their bodies to guide the elven woman off of him. Fight left him when a slender hand weaved through the loose blonde hair falling over his jaw, a soft caress flowing over the sensitive tip of his ear, and chapped lips closed over his bottom lip. 

Every inch of Alkaios wanted to jerk away from the touch. But another part of the man, a part that was quickly taking form and watching from the back of his mind, told him the truth of the situation. A test, he thought quickly, bringing his hands over her hips and holding Thram gently. 

Despite his obvious answer, his thoughts danced closer to Skyhold, over the courtyard, up a spiral staircase. His mind's eye conjured grey eyes like the sea after a storm, skin dark and rich and soft even above the hard muscle beneath, full lips slipping into a rare, soft smile. For just a moment, he caught the scent of ink, elemi and embrium.

Focusing on that memory, it took a fraction of a second for Alkaios to respond to the attention in kind, slanting his head to kiss her more fully. She drew back onto her elbows, and then rose to her feet. She made no indication that she'd even been over the inquisitor a moment before. Instead she finally- finally- pocketed her daggers and sat down casually in the middle of the clearing. 

“Clearly, you're in love.” She concluded, nodding to herself. “It only took eyes to see how much you care about your followers, and your advisers.” She waved away her own words. “Being thoughtful of one's position and those beneath it is secondary. Love is primary. Subjective, but primary. It's your biggest emotional weakness.”

Alkaios pulled himself off the forest floor, mirroring his trainer's posture. “I apologize. I didn't intend for my kissing back to give away my overpowering love for another.”

Thram threw him a lopsided grin. “Who is it?”

“As though you don't know.”

“Dear inquisitor, you wound me! I ask out of respect. Now do answer, before I forcefully find out.” 

“The last woman I was with was named Ellora. She was the first of my clan.”

“And who is the man you're with now?”

The warrior's eyes flitted to the sky, silently praying for strength. It had been a while since anyone had prodded this far past his conservative mask, and he was starting to lose his patience. His amaranthine eyes locked onto the Reaver's, pale blue and unwavering. His accent was impeccable as he mimicked the one he was so familiar with. “'Dorian of house Pavus'. I'm sure you've met him. Tall, dark and handsome. Likes to let everyone know that he knows he's handsome. Absolutely horrible for my health with how quickly he can change his stance at any given moment. What does this have to do with my training?” 

“Nothing. I was just plainly curious.” 

Alkaios threw her a glare, running his fingers through his dishevelled hair. He couldn't resist the urge to wipe his mouth on the back of his hand. An uncomfortable twist in his gut warned of something akin to guilt, knawing at the edges of his thoughts.

Breaker Thram watched the man pull one of his legs to his chest, rest his elbow on his knee, and rub his mouth absently. For someone as blunt and outspoken as herself, her words were surprisingly gentle when she next spoke. 

“I am sorry, Lavellan. Honesty is often found in fleeting moments. Breakers are taught to exploit these moments as best we can. I have all the answers I need now. We can truly begin your training tomorrow. Then there are physical barriers to overcome. Then, you're final task.”

Alkaios nodded determinedly. “That's good. I want to do this right, but the faster that I complete this training, the faster I can get back on the field.”

“You may change your mind, once your abilities awaken. It can take some time to temper.”

The warrior chuckled, throwing her a sharp grin. His teeth glinted just as sharply as his eyes, and she found herself reminded of the allure and charm that drew the Inquisitor's following to the walls of Skyhold. “I think you'll find I'm more disciplined than most.” 

Thram smiled, running her hand over her shaved blonde hair as she stood. “Hold onto that attitude, Inquisitor.”

“I always have.” 

~0~0~0~

After all the trials of the inquisitor, the ones that were guaranteed to become legend, Breaker Thram had little interest in truly breaking Lavellan's body. As sad as the truth may be, he performed the act onto himself so often that it would only take time she couldn't truly steal from him to break the physical form of the man she trained. 

Most humans have four foundation fears, she taught, even as she paced around the man. Two from two ultimate groups: the physical, and the psychological. Physical fears are the aspects of the world which we find ourselves wary of, even if we have faced and ultimately defeated this fear. Spiders, snakes, fire, lightning. These are physical fears. 

Psychological fears are subjective, usually less specific, but can be specified through clarification. Ultimately discovering the root of a psychological fear is like having a symbolic nightmare, waking up and regarding a dream journal for the meaning of each individual aspect. The unknown, loss, defeat, weakness, and fear itself are all psychological fears. 

Within the two categories, there are primal and derivative. This was quite self explanatory. The primal fear is one which resonates out of an innate sense of preservation, whereas the derivative fear has been gathered from experiences through the life of an individual. 

After observing the man for several weeks before training, his physical fears were not unbeknownst to the woman. It was no secret amongst his friends that Inquisitor Lavellan had a fear of spiders. 

As part of the exercise, Thram leaned back on her heels and asked Lavellan what he believed his greatest derivative fear is. 

“I'm certain you know.” He had said, still able to raise a brazen brow at his mentor. 

Thram hummed, “I know what you fear, tis true. However, only you would know what source has created what you fear most, and therefore only you can know what your true derivative fear is.”

The inquisitor crossed his arms, and his chin lowered infinitesimally, but he didn't speak. Despite what appeared to be resignation, the Breaker could see the man thinking his answer through. She waited patiently, still, until finally realization brightened then darkened his tan features. 

“Fire. I'm afraid of burning.”

Immediately, Thram made to brush away the vague answer. The fear of burning could lead to countless roots, it couldn't truly be a final physical fear of his- 

“Like... Haven. Growing up, we hardly ran into mages that far out. The deaths I had seen were often by blades. Seeing the charred bodies, the smell suffocating-” Lavellan paused, and his nose scrunched. “Yes. Fire has seemed a little more intimidating since then.” 

Based on his fear of spiders, Thram expressed to Lavellan what his initial fears might generally refer to. She watched him flinch as the word passed her lips, his reaction affirming her answer. Mutilation. In its most primal form, this fear fit into a fear that all of humanity shared- a fear of losing any physical identifiers, and having our bodies boundaries invaded. 

And the altering factor that pressured the Inquisitor's emotional strength was simple for both of them to deduce, without any discussion needed. The man loved, and when the man loved, they feared the loss of the derivative person.

Alkaios scoffed gently, pulling Thram from her thoughts as she mixed the blood of the Abyssal High Dragon that the Inquisitor had slain with a small band of his inner circle on his last excursion to the Hissing Wastes. She didn't turn as she poured some cider into the cup alongside the liquid, diluting its thick texture. 

“You sure have a way of making all of my fears seem very easily squashed. All these thoughts I've had rattling around my mind, and now I have two words to figure out what is throwing me off. Mutilation and loss.”

The Breaker turned, an almost-smile gracing her lips. “It's a strangely relieving enlightenment, isn't it? One of the most gratuitous revelations that this practise has to offer.” The quirk of her lips fell as she held the goblet out in offering. When Alkaios cradled the round top with his fingertips, she released her grip and let him examine the drink before him. 

“This is the dragon blood drink, then?”

“Yes.” Thram confirmed. “This is the final part of your test. We have discovered your physical, emotional, and mental weaknesses. Now, you face them.

“The first time you drink dragon blood, it changes you forever. It will put you into a lull, almost a coma, and then you'll be forced to face what scares you the most. What is important in this exercise is not to overcome this fear, but to harness and use it to your advantage in order to progress forward. The good news is that this procedure hardly lasts long, anywhere from a twenty minute sleep to an hour's worth. You are very nearly complete. You also won't remember the experience when you wake up.”

Lavellan's golden brow twitched upwards interestedly, “And the bad news?”

“What I have done for you is only in preparation. When you wake up, you will have succeeded, but you will be broken.”

The word hung on the air between them, swaying to the ground like a leaf swinging lightly between currents. Broken. Nobody comes back from being torn apart. Reavers are never the same after their training, Alkaios had read that. For one fleeting moment he worried that he wouldn't like what he was when he woke up, that his friends wouldn't. That Dorian wouldn't. 

But Alkaios had always been a martyr, and the Inquisitor had to grow. 

“Alright. How do I begin?”

~0~0~0~ 

Thram had never trained someone as strong as the inquisitor. Even at his weakest moments during his slumber, the Breaker was astounded by how incredibly disciplined the man truly was. 

For one, he never screamed. He never made any sound at all. Thram had once had a recruit who had shrieked her fool head off for so long that the Breaker had been forced to physically lift the woman from their isolated position and into a more fortifiable camp in order to protect the girl from creatures she was luring towards them with her cries. 

Although Thram mostly kept watch, she found her eyes focusing on Alkaios' face more often then once throughout the process. He had opted to fall under while propped up on a tree. His back was arched slightly into the wood, his shoulders falling forward. His legs were curled in front of him loosely, his arms pillowing his head. His head was turned towards her, loose strands of blonde hair floating lightly in the breeze. His brow was furrowed, the scar on the right side of his face pulled tight into the expression. His breath came in light huffs, and his lips sometimes moved as though he were speaking. 

Her eyes wandered down to his form once again, to the bandages on his leg. He had been asleep for nearly half an hour, but he had refused to change the bandages on his leg that morning and his wound was quickly seeping through the fabric. 

The woman crossed the camp and knelt by the man's pack, seeing spare bandages tucked into a mesh pocket on the side of his supplies, and snatched a red healing potion out of her belt. 

Lavellan was still very deeply asleep, and his wounded leg was sprawled mostly outward and away from his tightly coiled body. Thram knelt by his left side, pulling a knife from the inner crevice of her boot and cleanly swiping the warm metal under the bandage. It tore apart easily, and the woman looked up to make sure she hadn't disturbed the man under her fingertips. Other than a louder huff than usual, the warrior didn't budge an inch. 

The wound wasn't infected, but it wasn't clean either. Matted blood and quick stitching made the wound look much messier than it had to. Thram tipped the red liquid slowly, letting the potion slip around and into the remainder of the wound. 

When the flask was emptied, Thram grabbed the clean bandages, softly pressing her fingers to the bottom of Alkaios' leg to wrap the white fabric under his leg. Her warning was a quick inhale of breath that she didn't immediately register. Her mistake, really. 

A force clamped down on her upper arm, making her gasp before the foot by her left leg swept under her form. She slammed against the ground hard, feeling the breath leave her lungs. Thram's head lifted a couple centimeters from the ground before being slammed back down. The Inquisitor's hand caught the metal of the gorget around her neck, and hauled her up into the air only to throw her back again. 

Thram finally struggled to her feet a couple meters away, hearing the inquisitor unsheath his famous sword. Mirthadra sighed in the sunlight, flashing viciously across the clearing. The red bloodstone engravings cast maroon shades across the inquisitor's face. 

“Ga rehn ma arla!” The inquisitor snarled, the rage casting shadows across his savage expression.

“Hamin!” Thram commanded, albeit breathlessly. She pulled gulps of air into her lungs as Alkaios righted himself, looking around at the small clearing they had inhabited for the last couple days. Realization dawned on his features, and Lavellan sheathed his sword slowly, pressing the heel of his hand to his forehead. 

He groaned. “Well, that was uncomfortable. I don't feel as different as I thought I would. In fact I feel more...”

“Stable?” Thram offered. “Balanced?”

The inquisitor nodded in agreement, taking a step back and resting against the tree he had slept on. “The hatred, it's... bearable. Not so overwhelming, anymore. Like it's bottled up, now.”

The Breaker smiled. “You have impressed me, inquisitor. Be proud. Few people have known that luxury.”

Alkaios grinned at her in return, “I told you I don't disappoint.”

**Author's Note:**

> Translations:   
> Ga rehn ma arla! - Get away from my home!  
> Hamin- Stop!


End file.
